


The Event

by then_let_it_be_true



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/then_let_it_be_true/pseuds/then_let_it_be_true
Summary: I've often wondered what it would be like if a make up artist had a secret relationship or fell in love with the celebrity they work for.  I'm calling the man in my story "Ross" because I can't bring myself to admit who he really is.  I'm sure you can all figure it out.  I'm usually very much opposed to real-people-fiction...





	The Event

As far as they could tell, filming was on track. In fact, the directors had said they might even be a bit ahead of schedule. And then it happened, Ross was thrown from his horse. No one was really sure why. Probably his horse got spooked by something and threw him. He landed with a horrible thud on the ground, just nearly missing a rock mass that could’ve broken his neck or at least a bone. He laid motionless, face down on the ground. Everyone on set who saw it rushed out to his rescue. The questions were being shouted, “Are you ok?” “Can you hear us?” He never responded or moved. And then it was shouted, “Someone get medical!” That’s when he finally spoke. He was known for being a very patient and gracious man on set, but with a newfound acerbic tone to his voice he announced, “Nobody is calling medical! Get me my makeup artist!” The crowd stood still, not knowing if they heard him right, and if they did, was this truly the wisest course. He shouted again, “Get her, NOW!” “She’s in the makeup trailer,” said another member of the makeup team, “I’ll get her!” and she was gone. In a matter of seconds, two women were running back, one with a big black bag of supplies. Her face was distorted with fright and concern. The crowd parted to let her through. She kneeled beside him. He was still laying face down on the ground and didn’t sit up. She simply rested her hand on his back and the crowd soon heard that he was sobbing. She shot them all a look that told them to give them some privacy, and everyone dispersed and resumed the same positions they were standing in but much farther off.

Everyone kept watching from a distance because they were curious, curious as to if he was ok and how she was going to help him. For the first several minutes, she just knelt beside him, hand on his back. She didn’t say a word. Then they watched as she helped him sit up, he completely covering his face with his hands. She scooted her body closer to him, and, with his hands still covering his face, he leaned into her. Everyone watched as she cradled him against her chest, her arms wrapped around him, her hand making reassuring circles on his back. She let him sit there like that as long as he wanted, resting her chin on the top of his head. Soon they saw him draw back from her, hands still on his face. She gently took his wrists to help pry his hands away to see him. With one hand on his cheek, as if she was afraid to lose contact with him, she reached her other hand into the supply bag and brought out a tissue. Everyone saw her tenderly wipe his eyes. Then she started talking to him. Nobody knew what she said, but she spoke directly in his eyes, as if it was imperative that he hear it. He listened to whatever she was saying and often would nod in agreement.

Still sitting on the ground in front of him, she signaled for wardrobe. A new white shirt was brought to him, to replace the one that was now grass-stained and dirty. His tricorn had been thrown in the chaos and was located and also brought. They watched as he sat motionless while she removed the shirt from him, one button at a time, and threw it on the ground by her bag. He sat in front of her bare-chested and she pulled out a tube of something, everyone assumed it was icy/hot, and applied it to his left shoulder. She massaged his shoulder gently, still telling him something important. He looked down and nodded. She put her fingers under his chin, lifting his head up to meet her gaze. This time he said something and she nodded. She reached for the new shirt and handed it to him. He put it on, but she reached out to fasten the buttons. She dusted off his tricorn with her hat brush and put it on him, adjusting his hair underneath. She quickly dusted a powder on his face with a big brush. 

After a bit more conversation, she stood up. She extended both her hands in front of her and he reached up for them. She pulled him up into a standing position. He took a few steps. He looked sore. More talking from her, and more nodding from him. She was smiling. Before she walked away, she smacked him on the ass, much like a teammate of a sport would for encouragement. She picked up her black bag and the stained shirt and ran over to the head director saying, “Ross is fine. He’s a little shaken up and his shoulder is a little sore, but he is ready to continue filming. I think the only thing that has been seriously hurt today is his pride.” Everyone witnessed Ross and the horse’s trainer speaking soothingly to the horse and stroking it’s muzzle. Ross was back in the saddle and trotting back to stand on the horse’s mark.

Everyone watched as she walked back to where she had come from like nothing monumental had just happened; and at that moment it became clear to everyone that she was more to him than just his makeup artist.


End file.
